


The Meat Lover's Omelette

by moonymuffin



Series: The Hale-Stilinski List of Greatest Places to Fight [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymuffin/pseuds/moonymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, the rougher-than-necessary awakening - of a tossed outfit, gruff “get up”, and refusal to help Stiles untangle himself from the cocoon of blankets that Stiles had awoken in  - begins to make sense given Derek’s apparent current state of mood. Stiles begins trying to brace himself for the unpredictable storm brewing. </p>
<p>“Ok, I have no idea what got stuck up your ass, but you could cut me a little slack. It’s not like you’re suffering through the mother of all hangovers this morning,” Stiles says sharply. Derek rounds on him, eyebrows flying up towards his hairline and his mouth gaping. </p>
<p>aka "The one where they fight in the Denny's parking lot about something that happened while Stiles was drunk the night before"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meat Lover's Omelette

**Author's Note:**

> This stems from this [post](http://animesghost.tumblr.com/post/82245944406/top-places-to-fight).
> 
> Title is from the Denny's menu. I just don't even know. 
> 
> There are mentions of alcohol, things are thrown, and unrealised dub-con (elaborated on in the end notes).

**1\. Hungover in Denny's Parking Lot**

* * *

 

Derek slams the car door behind him, shaking the entire vehicle. The noise feels like an ax to Stiles's temple, his eyes clenching shut against the pain. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose and repositions his sunglasses before exiting the Toyota himself.

“I _hardly_ think that was necessary,” he says, jogging to catch up to Derek despite his nausea.

“I disagree.” It comes out bitingly. His fists clench at his sides, causing his already obnoxious muscles to ripple beneath his gray henley. Stiles halts his pursuit. Suddenly, the rougher-than-necessary awakening - of a tossed outfit, gruff “get up”, and refusal to help Stiles untangle himself from the cocoon of blankets that Stiles had awoken in - begins to make sense given Derek’s apparent current state of mood. Stiles begins trying to brace himself for the unpredictable storm brewing.

“Ok, I have no idea what got stuck up your ass, but you could cut me a little slack. It’s not like you’re suffering through the mother of all hangovers this morning,” Stiles says sharply. Derek rounds on him, eyebrows flying up towards his hairline and his mouth gaping.

“Despite _your greatest efforts_ , nothing is up my ass. The only reason I’m at this godforsaken place” Derek bites with an exaggerated sweeping hand gesture towards the Denny’s, causing Stiles to become momentarily distracted by the consequent tightening of the henley’s sleeves,  “is because _you_ need something to soak up monumental amount of alcohol currently trying to work its way out of your bloodstream, and I didn’t trust your alcohol-ridden body to not cause serious damage my loft – or itself - trying to make breakfast.”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t just throw some cereal in a bowl for me – if it’s that crucial that I consume food - and then let me sleep it off,” Stiles grumbles, looking down at his hands fidgeting with the red drawstring of his hoodie. “Instead, of waking me up at the asscrack of dawn.” He lifts his gaze to glower at Derek, seeing in his periphery that their outburst has caused a few people to pause to watch the exchange.

Derek notices the spectators as well, and turns from Stiles to shoot a glare in their direction. They quickly shuffle into the restaurant, bringing Stiles’s brief reprieve to an end, as Derek refocuses his glare upon him. “ _Funnily enough_ , I didn’t feel like doing anything for _you_ this morning.”

“As you previously _barked_ ,” Derek’s glare hardens, “We are currently having this ridiculous pseudo-argument in the Denny’s parking lot – of all places - because _you_ decided that _I_ needed food.” Derek flushes, and Stiles wonders whether it stems from embarrassment or anger. “Now, I feel all kinds of wretched this morning without your help, so - if you are not going to bother enlightening me on what your _obvious_ problem is - can we please hit pause on whatever _this_ is,” he says gesticulating between them, “until a time when I am in better control of my faculties. Thanks.” He brushes past Derek towards the restaurant, only to feel Derek’s hand lightly snake around his wrist and tug him around to reface him.

“You honestly have no inkling as to why I would be pissed after last night?” he says incredulously.

“No, Derek, I just enjoy lying to you,” Stiles deadpans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t know if you forgot, but I’m not a big bad wolf – _unlike some of us_ – therefore, I do not possess the metabolism of one. So, whenI get competitive and decide that it’s a good idea to match a bunch of were-things shot for shot, one plus one usually equals me blacked out and knocked on my ass - I’m counting it a minor win that I didn’t end up in the _hospital._ Ergo, I do not remember a thing from last night beyond when we all started doing body shots – a memory I cannot _possibly_ express the level of regret I have at losing.”

“So, I take it then that you _don’t_ remember the argument we had?” Derek says quietly. The lack of fire unbalances Stiles, and he attempts to regain somewhat of a grasp on what was already an unclear situation.

“We argued last night?” He shakes himself free of Derek’s lingering grasp, racking his brain for any recollection or residual anger. “ _Why_ would we have argued?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Derek says quickly, “Let’s go get you some breakfast!”

“No, you started this thing, so you don’t _get_ to bail. Obviously whatever happened is bugging you, so share it with the class, _Derek_ ,” Stiles says, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his skull and increasing nausea.

“Just drop it.”

“Goddammit, Derek! Quit being a fucking martyr, and tell me before I fucking puke on you!” Stiles shouts. He can see some of the families sitting in the windows turning to look at them, but is so far beyond caring.

Derek looks shiftily around them. He grabs Stiles by the arms, leading him away from the restaurant and back towards the Toyota. “Ok, calm down. You are making a scene.”

“ _I’m_ making a scene? You obviously wanted a fight, well now you’ve got one.”

“That’s when I figured that you were just being stubborn about not apologizing. I didn’t realize that you wouldn’t even remember the thing.” Stiles tugs his arms from his grasp, crossing them tightly across his chest, waiting. Derek scrubs his hands down his face, pulling on his lips. “Fine! I’ll tell you, just _please_ lower your voice.”

“ _Fine._ ”

“Great.”

“ _Great.”_ They glare at each other in silence, until Stiles breaks, whining, “Ok, we need to stop this, because it’s starting to turn me on, and I’m pretty sure my body will combust if placed under _that_ kind of stress. So, just spit it out.” Effectively, breaking the tension.

Derek sighs, turning his head away from Stiles, and mumbles something under his breath.

“Ya, I also don’t have supernatural hearing, so how about you try that again?” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

Derek turns back towards him, and clenching his jaw and fists, steeling himself. “We fought because I refused to have sex with you.”

“Pardon?!” Stiles splutters. He tears off his sunglasses, gasping when the sun sears his eyes.

“God…. Just let me…” Derek reaches over, placing his fingers on Stiles temples. He closes his eyes, and Stiles watches the blackness creep up through his veins.

“God…. I love you so much,” he groans, basking in the momentary relief, anger forgotten.

“Just put your sunglasses back on. God, you are so dramatic.”

“Ok,” Stiles dutifully slips them back on his face, “could you please give me a summary of this fight we had?”

Derek leans back against the hatch of the Toyota, coughing awkwardly, a hand rubbing over the blush burning up his neck. “Well, I honestly don’t know if you can call it a fight… it was pretty one-sided.”

“Derek…” Stiles says, warningly.

“Uh, we were fooling around after we got home, and you went to, uh… progress things – a progression that I, well, stopped.” Stiles bites back a smile at his gesticulations – a nervous habit Derek adopted from him.

“For fairly obvious moral implications, I’d assume.” Derek nods and gives him a small smile, leaving Stiles feeling lighter.

“Yes, well, what somewhat-sober Stiles understands now, heavily intoxicated Stiles definitely did not. In fact, he was fairly put out by the notion that I was not going to – and I quote – ‘give [him] some of that sweet, sweet lovin’. First, resorting to stripping and begging to try and change my mind, however when he observed – alcohol obviously severely impairing his vision, because it was certainly not the case – that I was unmoved, he began to throw what can only be described as a naked temper tantrum.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles can feel his face burning. He pulls his hood up, and buries his face in his hands. Derek chases after them, prying his hands away from his face, and swinging them gently between the two of them.

“There was quite a bit of unintelligible, slurred yelling, and you threw the books that were on my nightstand. Luckily, the alcohol also worked to skew your aim, and I was able to catch them fairly easily anyway. At this point, however, I grabbed the comforter, trapped you in it, and threw you on the bed. You struggled against your confines for a matter of seconds, and - apparently deciding that you could not possibly free yourself – fell asleep.”

“I am _so_ fucking _sorry._ God, I am mortified.”

“And _that_ is all I wanted,” Derek affirms, grinning at him. He pulls him in, Stiles collapsing against his chest, and wraps his arms tightly around him.

“I really am sorry,” Stiles says, the words muffled in Derek’s shoulder.

“I know. You’ll just have to find some way to make it up to me, I guess.”

“I will,” Stiles says earnestly, pushing back to lock eyes with him, “I _promise._ ”

“In hindsight, I feel kind of flattered,” Derek says, smirking at him.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles says hitting him in the chest, ignoring the clenching in his chest.

“I was worried you were going to hurt yourself in the process of your quest for my ‘man-meat’ as you so delicately put it,” Derek breaks, dissolving into laughter.

“God, I hate you,” Stiles says pushing away from him. Derek doubles over with laughter, bracing himself against the vehicle.

“I have it on a pretty good, honest authority that _that_ is not true. In fact, you love me _a lot._ Like, a lot, _a lot,”_ he says straightening up, the smirk returning.

“I do.” The admission steadies Derek, and he beams at Stiles. “Can we go inside and eat now? Then we can go home where I can heal, and, later, start ‘ _making it up to you_ ’?” he says wiggling his eyebrows, flinching afterwards in response to the motion.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Boozey McGee,” Derek says, rolling his eyes and starting towards the restaurant. He cocks an eyebrow at Stiles, holding out his hand, “You comin’?”  

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles is far drunker than Derek and tries to convince him to have sex with him, and he has a temper tantrum (which includes throwing books) when Derek refuses. Derek traps him in a blanket. 
> 
> Please let me know if I need to warn for anything else.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://www.moonymuffin.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
